“Because you called me a spy,” I said.
“Well, that seems to be what you are, you young scoundrel. How many of your friends are there up yonder?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Say ‘sir’ when you speak to a gentleman,” cried the officer angrily, “and no nonsense. Speak out—the truth if you don’t want to be shot.”
“Of course I don’t want to be shot,” I said scornfully; “and I’m not in the habit of telling lies.”
“How many Boers are there, then, up in the pass?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We crept by them in the dark.”
“Why? To come and see what forces we had here?”
“No,” I said.
“Then why did you come?”